Tie Me Down

by Tracy Wolff

  She was no closer to finding the killer, no closer to saving her job. Chastian had spent the rest of the day looking at her like she was a cross between a hooker and an alien, while Torres had skulked after her when she left the station. He didn’t think she’d seen him. But she knew when she was being followed. What she couldn’t understand—and at that point was too tired to care about—was why.

  Cole came back into the bedroom and she blinked away the exhausted tears. He’d already seen her cry twice—which was two times more than she usually did. She’d be damned if she did it again.

  He started to undress her, slipping off her work shoes, followed by her pants and blouse. But when he reached for her underwear, she laid a soft hand on his. “I don’t know how good I’ll be tonight. I’m sorry. I should have just gone home.”

  The curse that split the air was vile, even for Cole. And then he was ripping her panties and bra off her before divesting himself of his clothes almost as quickly. “Is that what you think of me?” he demanded. “That I would force sex on you when you’re nearly catatonic?”

  He picked her up, headed into the bathroom. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

  “It’s not—” She struggled to lift her head from where it was pillowed on his chest.

  “Ssh, don’t talk now. Just let me take care of you.”

  And then he was stepping into the shower, letting hot water cascade over her from all directions. “Can you stand?” he asked, sliding her slowly down his body.

  “Of course I can stand!” She tried to be outraged at the suggestion of her weakness, but as soon as her feet hit the floor, she swayed alarmingly.

  Cole cursed again, then settled her on the long bench that ran the length of the shower. Turned the various jets so that they were flowing over her from neck to ankles. “Let’s just try this, shall we?”

  Her eyes were closed, her head resting against the shower wall as Cole slid soapy hands over her shoulders and down her arms. He was so sweet, his fingers so gentle as they glided over her breasts and stomach, that she had trouble reconciling him with the man who had strapped her to his bed and pushed her body harder than it had ever been pushed before.

  As his fingers glanced over her mons before moving between her legs, she felt a flicker of response. Amazing. How she could want him when her body was half-dead, maybe more?

  In that moment, when she was so exhausted she could barely hold her head up, she saw their entire relationship as it flashed before her eyes. She saw it, and with one shuddering breath, slipped helplessly over the edge of lust into love.

  It wasn’t a bad fall, as she’d always imagined it would be. Nor was it terrifying or any of the other things she’d always assumed giving control of her body to another would mean.

  With Cole it felt right. Natural. As right as his hands caressing every part of her, as perfect as his eyes lingering on each sweet spot she had.

  The words trembled on her lips, the need to share with him what she’d only just discovered nearly overwhelming. But she was beginning to know Cole, to understand how he worked. And she was smart enough to understand that he could not accept how she felt about him—not yet. Whatever his demons were, they were riding him hard. All she could do was hang on and hope to somehow, some way, gentle him into returning her feelings.

  With this newfound knowledge burning inside of her, Genevieve felt the body she’d thought too tired to function begin to respond to Cole’s tender ministrations.

  Arching her hips, she moaned a little, but he ignored the signs. Instead he rinsed the soap from her body slowly, letting the hot water ease aches and pains she hadn’t even known were there.

  He leaned forward, moving the handheld showerhead up so that water cascaded over first one shoulder and then the other. Little rivulets ran over her breasts, down her stomach, and she arched her back, enjoying the sensual warmth of the water as it touched every part of her.

  Soon, too soon, he turned off the water and wrapped her in a huge black towel. She was in a daze, so tired that she could barely hold her head up, so disconsolate that she wanted to crawl into bed and pull the sheet over her head until she could once again face the world.

  Cole’s hands were gentle as they dried the water from her; gentler still as he carried her back to his bed. After crossing to his dresser and yanking out a huge T-shirt, he pulled it over her head and then slipped her between the covers.

  “Cole?” she asked, her hands reaching for him despite the exhaustion.

  “Sleep, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t leave me.” Her hand clutched at his and she curled herself around it, trying desperately to hold him to her. If she’d been more aware, such neediness would have appalled her. As it was, all she knew was that she didn’t want to be alone. Would pull into a ball and sob if Cole left her after taking such sweet care of her.

  “I’m right here, Genevieve. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He climbed into the bed beside her, pulling her into his chest. His warmth seeped into her, and she sighed as she rested her head on his chest, heard his heart beating steadily beneath her ear. She drifted to sleep feeling safer than she ever had before.

  * * *

  Cole smiled as he watched Genevieve sleep, trailed a finger over her high cheekbones and across that lush, relaxed mouth. She looked like hell—dark circles beneath her eyes, tension drawing her skin tight across her forehead and cheekbones, even in sleep. But she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, this woman who wore herself to exhaustion and beyond in her quest for justice.

  She’d say it was her job, and maybe it was, but for Genevieve it was a calling, one she took incredibly seriously. Even if she weren’t beautiful and intelligent and the most exciting lover he’d ever had, he would still be intrigued by her, simply because of the way she fought for her victims. For their families. Her raw, unadulterated, uncompromising view of right and wrong—of justice and injustice—appealed to a man who had been forced to see the world in too many shades of gray for much too long.

  He brushed his lips over her crazy curls, careful not to wake her despite his need to keep touching her. To feel her against him. To know that she was here, with him, safe in a world that was anything but.

  If he’d held Samantha closer, had forced her to—He cut off abruptly, unwilling to take that train of thought any further. Not now, when Genevieve’s body was curled so trustingly against his. Not tonight, when his emotions and fears were much too close to the surface.

  He squashed a momentary longing for the bottle of tequila in the next room. He’d relied too heavily on the clear liquor since he’d gotten to this godforsaken city, and enough was enough. If he couldn’t deal with his problems, couldn’t control what was happening now and what had happened seven years before, then what good was he? As a director or a man?

  He didn’t know how long he lay there like that, watching Genevieve. Winding her curls around his fingers in an effort to hold her to him. Touching her just to reassure himself that she was still alive, still with him.

  But dawn was streaking the sky outside his windows before she stirred. He didn’t move for long seconds, hoping that she wouldn’t wake up. She needed to sleep so badly, needed to heal her tired body and wounded psyche with a little time away from her responsibilities. From the case.

  His caution was for nothing, though, as her beautiful sapphire eyes blinked open. She stared at him owlishly for a moment, confusion evident on her beautiful features. He knew the exact moment she realized where she was and how she’d gotten there—a warm, becoming flush crept up from beneath his T-shirt to cover her neck and cheeks.

  “Hi there.” He tightened his arms around her as he whispered the words, so that she was snuggled—full-length—against him.

  “Hi yourself.” Her voice was husky with sleep and so sexy he felt the semi-hard-on he’d been ignoring for hours twitch in reaction, growing fuller.

  “Go back to sleep.” He kissed her eyes, trailed his
lips over her soft pink cheeks. “You need more rest.”

  “I need you.” She shifted so that her legs tangled with his and her pelvis was pressed against his suddenly throbbing cock. “Make love to me, Cole. Please.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, tried to convince himself to leave her alone. To let her get the rest she so desperately needed. But she was wiggling and squirming, her nipples growing hard against his chest, her pussy radiating a heat that called to him.

  Telling himself to be gentle with her, he pulled her shirt off, then feathered a trail of kisses from the hollow of her throat to her belly button. His tongue darted out, licked the intriguing lines of her tattoo again and again, until he felt her quiver beneath him, her body softening just a little bit more.

  Reaching up, he ran his thumb over and around her nipples. They were diamond hard and so sensitive that each brush of his hand against them had her sucking in her breath and arching her back for a harder pressure.

  Licking his way up her body, he stopped at her breasts. Drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled gently. She cried out, buried her hands in his hair, and he reveled in the feel of her fingers on his scalp. She tasted amazing—like the sweetest honey, the softest lavender—and he couldn’t get enough of her.

  Inhaling deeply, he took her scent into his lungs, loved that the candy sweetness of her was mixed with the wild scent of his own soap. She smelled like him, and that mark of possession, that primitive proof that she belonged to him, lit him up like a rocket. Tightening his arms around her, he rolled until she was above him—her legs straddling him, her hot pussy resting against his dick.

  She gasped, her blue eyes darkening to black as she moved her hips gently against him. Rocked until he slipped between the moist folds of her sex, the head of his cock just touching her clit.

  He groaned, fisted his hands in her hair and fought for control. How could he lose it so quickly? How could she steal it so easily when he’d been determined to take her with the sweetness and gentleness that he’d previously neglected to give her?

  Biting his lip, tamping down on the raging inferno that was his body, he smoothed his hands down her back. Savored the silkiness of her skin, the warm softness of her body. No one had ever touched him the way Genevieve did so effortlessly.

  Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he skimmed his hands over her ass, around her hips and up her stomach to her breasts. Cupping the sweet weights in his hands, he rubbed his thumb in small circles on the undersides of her breasts.

  “Cole.” It was a whisper of sound, a plea for more, but he refused to be rushed. Today, he would savor her, so that when she went back to her hellish job, she would know just what she meant to him.

  “Let me love you, Genevieve. No games, no control—just you and me and everything we can give each other.”

  She bit her lip and her eyes darkened even more as she looked at him. He could see the wariness there, the need to give herself to him but also the desire to keep her battered spirit safe.

  He slid his hands up her torso to her face, cupped her jaw in his palms. “I won’t hurt you, sweetheart. I already told you that. Trust me to do what’s right for you. What’s right for us.”

  He sensed her disquiet, felt her holding her breath as surely as she held him between her thighs. And when she finally nodded, her long, loose curls flowing over her shoulders and breasts in a cascade of gold, he felt his heart melt in his chest.

  “I’ll make it good for you, Genevieve.” He nuzzled her breast, traced patterns on the delicate skin. “I swear I will.”

  She laughed, the sound low and husky and amazingly feminine. “You always make it good for me.”

  And then she lowered her mouth to his, caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged softly, sliding the tip of her tongue over the outside of it before moving slowly, teasingly, over the slickness of the soft inner flesh.

  He felt the caress through his whole body, from the soles of his feet and the palms of his hands to his balls, which were already threatening to explode. His hands tightened in her hair, and she laughed.

  He took advantage of her open mouth, slipped his tongue inside to tangle with her own. As her teeth parted, he tilted her head so that she was wide open to him, until no part of her mouth was unavailable to his hot, hungry quest.

  He slid his tongue beneath her upper lip, played with the soft skin. Relished the moan the little caress drew from her before wrapping his tongue around hers and sucking softly.

  She gasped, and he felt her sex grow wetter, hotter against his cock. His hips jerked before he could control them, and his eyes nearly crossed as her legs tightened around him reflexively.

  She was so turned on, her body pliant and his for the taking. Part of him wanted to shove her onto her back and thrust inside of her until they were both sweating, both screaming. Both coming.

  But that was how he always took her—pushing her to take everything she could. Straining the boundaries of her experience and experimental nature until she took everything he wanted to give her, until she gave all that she was to him.

  Today, he wanted to give himself to her. To love her without the tricks and the toys and the walls he’d kept between them until now.

  But taking it slow was the hardest thing he’d ever done, when his body was on fire for her, his cock screaming for the chance to slip inside her slick warmth and ride her until ecstasy took them both.

  Control, he told himself, as he took her mouth in another soul-searing kiss. Control was the ticket.

  Cole had lost his mind, was doing his best to make her lose hers. Genevieve cried out as he nibbled at her lips, his tongue sweeping over and around and inside her lips until she was ready to scream with frustration.

  What was he waiting for? How much hotter did she have to be? Already, her body was trembling, electrified, every nerve ending she had calling out to him, yet he refused to take her. Instead, he kept his mouth on hers, tasting and teasing until she was nearly mad with desire.

  “Cole, I need you,” she gasped, rocking her hips against his hard cock. He felt so good, so amazingly, heart-wrenchingly good, that she was close to climaxing just from the occasional, glancing caress of his tip against her aching clit.

  At that moment, sunlight filtered into the room through the half-open shutters. For a moment, she was dazzled by the play of sun over Cole’s strong golden torso, enthralled by each shift and ripple of his muscles.

  But then common sense kicked in and she yelped, jumping off Cole as if she’d been burned. His hands were still tangled in her hair and it tugged as she moved away from him, but even that didn’t slow her down as she raced across the room.

  “Genevieve?” He sat up in bed, stared at her with confused eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “The shutters. I need to close—” Her voice broke as she rushed from window to window as fast as she could, slamming each shutter closed until the room was once again blanketed by darkness.

  Only then did she stop, her back to him as she tried to get control of the panic racing through her system. How could she be so stupid—again? Wasn’t once enough of a humiliation?

  Horrified, panicked, she tried desperately to remember what had happened after she’d gotten to Cole’s a few hours before. They hadn’t made love—she’d been too zonked for that—but he had undressed her, showered her, carried her, naked, to his bed.

  For a brief moment she thought back to Torres, who had followed her out of the station and through the Quarter to her house. Had he stuck around to see her climb into her car, or had he left once she was safely indoors? Had he been following her to keep her safe, or for some other, nefarious reason?

  Luc, Shawn, Chastian, Jefferson, Jose—their faces swam through her head until Genevieve worried she might actually go insane. What was she thinking? They were cops, all of them. Her friends and partners, even her boss. There was no way any of them would do this to her. No way one of them could be this sadistic and manage to hide it so well. She wa
s simply letting paranoia get the better of her.

  “Hey, earth to Genevieve.” Cole’s hands landed heavily on her shoulders, and then he was turning her to face him. “You want to tell me what the hell that was all about?”

  “No.” Her voice was rusty to her own ears. “I really don’t.”

  “Let me rephrase that.” He strode over to the bed, pulling her behind him with a hand around her wrist. “I want to know what that was about. Now.”

  He switched on his bedside lamp and a soft puddle of light chased away the last vestiges of night. If only he could do the same for the darkness invading her soul. But he couldn’t. She smiled sadly. He was just a man—one who spent most of his own life in the shadows. It was unfair of her to ask him to take on her ghosts as well.

  “I freaked out.” She shrugged, tried to play it off. “I’m sorry—I’ve got an overdeveloped sense of paranoia. Sometimes it gets the best of me.”

  The look he gave her was patently disbelieving. “You are the least paranoid person I know.”

  She snorted. “Don’t bet on that.”

  “Why are you lying to me?” His voice was curiously devoid of the anger she’d expected, and when she finally met his eyes, they were completely blank. As if he’d gone inside himself and nothing she said was going to be able to reach him.

  Fear, ice-cold and vicious, whipped through her. Not Cole too, a little voice whispered in the back of her head. She was on the brink of losing another victim, her job, and the respect of her colleagues. She couldn’t lose Cole too, not when she’d just begun to figure out what he meant to her.

  Too humiliated to tell him what was really going on, too frightened not to try to smooth things over, she finally said, “It’s work stuff, Cole. Can we leave it at that?”

  “You think that sick bastard is following you? That he’s out there right now?”

  He pulled her into his chest, held her tightly for one long inhalation, then shoved her behind him. He crossed the room in three strides and threw open the patio doors before she could stop him.